The Flower Blooms Once
by RuAlf
Summary: Her life branched out before her as she stared at the hand offered for her. She smiled and took it. Warning for a few gender bent casts
The very first thing he noticed was the unearthly melody that was originated from the lone piano by the corner of the restaurant. His eyes caught the figure sitting on the piano bench the next second and he was stunned. His throat rendered speechless for the indescribable sight before him. Silver locks framing the smooth, creamy white almost pale skin that practically glowed. The dim lighting of the bistro did no justice to emphasize the beauty, yet she's already illuminating like the lustrous moon.

When she opened her eyes, they were the most dazzling emerald orbs he'd ever seen. Long, talented fingers smoothly danced across the ivory black and white keys, keeping the ethereal harmony alive.

He was captivated, enamored by the sight that when the song was finished and she stood, bowing toward the audiences with a soft smile adorning her face, he was kneeling before her.

That was the night when he found Lavina.

…

Lavina was no stranger to being shunned off. She is, after all, not purely comes from this country she lived in. People pointed their accusing finger at her during her childhood days and she could scarcely remember a few whispers of disapproval from other child's parents. It was alright; she's used to it. Her parents had continuously told her to ignore them and ignore them she did. It was fairly easy when she drowned herself between the sheets after sheet of musical scores her father brought home for her. The piano was her refugee, a strong support against her back to keep her standing. Her parents praises were her motivation, a resilient push against her will to keep on playing.

And she did, with all her heart and all her soul.

When she accepted the job to play in the sophisticated, elegant Italian restaurant in the central area of the town, she never expected to meet a man who'd change the course of her destiny. He was no ordinary man, she could tell easily from his sleek suit and his slicked back dark hair. His eyes shone in a glint of fiery determination that was well hidden behind fogs of deception. When the man kneeled before her with a silent inquiry to take his hand, she knew that she was being faced with two branches of her life that would lead into two different endings.

So she smiled at the kneeling man before her and took his outstretched hand.

…

There was a stranger in the house that night. A stranger with beautiful silver hair and green eyes. Bianchi had sworn she was really beautiful, like the painting in his father study or the fairies and myth creatures in the picture books his mother had shown him. She was smiling at him when she greeted him and patted the magenta locks of his hair. Her pretty silver hair flowed down to the stranger's back, reaching midway. Bianchi was about to ask who she was, but his father had come into the room and was surprised to see him there. With a short reprimand, a maid was ordered to take him to bed immediately before the clock struck nine.

Bianchi slept dreaming of pretty fairies with sparkling silver hair.

…

She doesn't really care if he found another woman. Truthfully, she never cared about the affair and she's always good at maintaining a perfect image of the wife from a famed mafia don. She met the woman, once, had a good conversation with her and it was anything but awkward. The young woman was extraordinary, she would say. When the woman introduced herself as half Japanese, her smile grew even wider as she spoke fond of the foreign country's culture and its landmarks. They have a chatty afternoon tea full of reminiscence of the faraway country. She gave Lavina a sincere hug when evening rolled by.

Her husband seemed contrite to face her after her lovely afternoon with Lavina. She laughed at his guilt-ridden face and said that Lavina is a beautiful young woman that deserved love. And that she will kill him if he wouldn't give as much love as possible to the poor woman who would leave eventually by the law.

She saw her husband grimaced at her statement and decided to kiss it better.

…

It was far too quite in the hospital corridor he's currently waiting at. His eyes glued to his watch, counting seconds to minutes in years and millennia. Cold sweats rolled down his cheeks to his defined jaw as he threw another hard glance to the closed blue door as if he could see through what's transpired behind the thick door. His son was sitting on his wife's lap, watching him anxiously -the latter- and curiously -the former.

The light on top of the door flicked off so suddenly. He didn't expect it. Even though he's been pacing back and forth, waiting for it to end, he was startled by the abrupt change. His son was the first to approach the doctor going out from the operating room. The doctor was one of his trusted ones; the best underground doctor -as well as licensed doctor in the surface- he could find.

"Shamal…" his wife beckoned from the waiting seat, her jade-grey eyes glittered in alarm. The doctor -Shamal- scratched his head, as if he had no answer to the unspoken question lingering in the air. Bianchi was staring up at the doctor, curiosity sparkled from his eyes. Shamal let out a burdened sigh as he explained that the baby is safe and sound. He offered congratulation for the father for a beautiful daughter with tuft of silver hair on top of her head.

Bianchi blinked once, then twice, before he asked if that means he's going to be a big brother. Shamal nodded to entertain the little boy and an unwitting smile made way to his lips when he saw the three year old cheered. Despite the positive reaction from their child, both mafia don and his wife were quiet. They should know, there were a few symptoms of abnormalities before the labor.

"Lavina will live," Shamal began awkwardly. It was never easy to bring the bad news to the one waiting outside, "We just didn't know for how long" he could see the magenta-haired woman flinched. The mafia don gave him a look and nodded before he ushered both his wife and son out of the corridor and into the well-lit lobby.

Shamal is a good, no _the best_ in what he does. If he said the patient would die, they would. There's no doubt that Lavina will eventually die in the near future. It's for the best that Shamal didn't go into a detailed explanation of her disease or they would start to hope. Hope that it would have a cure. That it would pass like a case of bad flu.

Bianchi -unaware of his parent's muddled thought- merely smiled as he thought of how his sister would look like.

…

There were times when Lavina actually cried.

When she was little and it's the first day of her school was one of them. It was tears of loneliness from the jeers and the boos from everyone in school. She was lucky to meet a kind teacher that taught her that she should be proud of her origins and ignore those other kids.

She learnt to hold her head higher.

When she was in middle school and it's graduation day. It was tears of joy from the appreciation she got from her school. She had worked her days off, studying math and all those trivial things until she dreamt of numbers and formulas. It paid off when she looked at her parent's proud look.

She learnt that the outcome depends on your action.

When she had just graduated from high school and was searching for a job. It was tears of anger from her colleagues suggested job, as if she was a cheap whore that would spread her legs for money. She punched him with all her might and left after she's sure that she had left a mark.

She learnt that we couldn't understand human completely

And…when Gokudera Hayato was born into this world.

It was tears of joy, sadness, and distress. Joy for she is her beloved child. Sadness for she might not be able to see her often. Distress for in the upcoming future, she might not be there when she needs her the most.

…

Hayato was two when she saw the pretty woman with silver hair just like hers.

She smiled at her and took her to the big wooden musical instrument in the private room. It was the room where her brother practiced something called pee-ya-no. Hayato asked the nice lady what they're going to do. Still with a smile, the woman put her fingers on the 'pee-ya-no' and a melodious song began to play.

Hayato's eyes glimmered, her interest perked up as she asked the nice lady to teach her how to make the 'pee-ya-no' sings.

…

It took two visits for her to like the silver-haired piano -she learnt the correct way to call it- teacher. The third visit, she was able to master her very first song and she was so ecstatic that she played it day and night, annoying the maids to no end. Those servants aside, she loves the feeling of accomplishment she got from the song she produced with her small, fragile fingers. Her mother had praised her for that perfect song she played and although Bianchi had said that the song he was learning is way more complex, he had gushed her with praises.

Her piano teacher looked as proud as her family did and it brought a massive smile to Hayato's face.

By christmas, her piano teacher gave her a new musical score to practice with. She had skimmed over the sets of notes and blanched, her lips spluttered with how complicated the piece looked. The silver-haired woman chuckled softly at her and began playing the song. Hayato had never heard such sweet melody, filled to the brim with emotions and unspoken story. She listened, her eyes closed to immerse herself to the world that could only be felt with that song alone.

And she cried. There is a dominant emotion between the high and low notes, peeking behind the crescendo. She couldn't put a label to the feeling, but the tears rolling down her cheeks was enough.

Her piano teacher told her that if she managed to play this song by the time her third birthday rolled by, she would tell her what it means.

She had never been more determined to learn in her life.

…

They met in secret, behind public eyes and even behind their husband's eyes.

They had afternoon tea and chatted like old friends.

They spoke fondly of their children's growth and laughed at bad jokes.

They bid their good bye in August and she asked her to take care of her daughter.

…

In September, Hayato learnt how to count. With her fingers as tools and her brain as, well, brain, she counted the days until her birthday. She counted her age -which is three and sounded old to her two year old ears- and frowned at Bianchi's. She counted the keys in her piano and gave up in the middle -when she reached ten and was confused by the existence of the word 'eleven'.

In September, she saw her father glanced at the calendar more than necessary. Her mother fidgeted as her birthday drew near and the whole house engulfed in tight schedule to prepare for the young miss Hayato's birthday.

In September, she had trained her fingers until they were sore. The scores her teacher had given her were in tatter, full of circles and ticks courtesy of her persistence to study the notes individually. She played the scores perfectly though and she counted the days to her birthday in countdown.

In September, she waited in the piano room, refusing to go out of there until the silver-haired woman appeared. Her legs dangled back and forth as her green eyes trailed to the door.

In September, she received a beautiful pearly white dress from her mother.

She singed the dress black when December came.

…

Bianchi had seen it coming though. The very first day Hayato came home, burnt mark peppering her creamy white skin had been enough proof. He carried her personally to her room and bandaged the cuts and lathered the ugly black marks with cool gel. Scolding was all he could do -gently because he couldn't shout at his dear little sister- and he knew that Hayato wouldn't listen to a single word he said.

So he hugged her.

And didn't let go when his sister squirmed, complaining that it was too tight and she's not a baby.

…

It's as if she could see wings sprouting from Hayato's back these days.

Flutter of the feathery appendages when she came home with a broken arm in cast -that brought a disapproving frown to Shamal's face.

They became more evident as she watched her running around the house with small explosives, her brother chasing her faithfully with a batch of his 'unique' cookies on his hands, wafting pungent smell.

The wings were complete when she saw her walked out of the living room toward the laundry area and she knew immediately that it would be the last time she saw her.

She stayed on her seat, sipping on her tea without sparing a glance to her departing daughter.

…

Her feet might be small, but they are capable enough to carry her equally lithe body away from the castle she had called her house for the last eight years of her life. She ran, ignoring Bianchi's call and the panic that was erupted from the couple of maids doing laundry at the backyard. Leaping over the wired fence with ease, she continued on her escapade, deaf to the beckons and calls behind her. There's no time to waste lest she want them to catch up with her –damn her short legs.

Into the street of Italy she went, gasping, panting for breath.

She glanced down at her current outfit –a stupid dress Bianchi had forced her to wear because it looks absolutely adorable- and grimaced. This look would definitely earn her unwanted stares from pedestrians. She pulled on the belt, uncoiling the leather strap and with strength beyond her little hands, ripped the skirt part off the dress. Thankfully, she had worn shorts beneath the layers of satin and silk so she could save herself from the embarrassment of walking around the street in her underwear – bloomers can go to hell.

Satisfied, she shrugged the fabric, dropping a few explosives she had smuggled out to the fabrics. There are give or take ten small ones and five big ones –the small ones she had stolen out of the storage room while she proudly made the big ones- and she counted the few coins she had on her. A few euros wouldn't last her a week. She would need a job, preferably one that would involve her with the mafia. It's the only life she had been with since birth and despite her brother's concern when she said she trained under Shamal, she would get into the mafia life.

Gritting her teeth in pure determination, she took off to the main road, her purpose flared in her chest.

…

A big, no, tremendous commotion happened in Bianchi's house. His little sister had managed to outrun every maid and servants and now she's gone by herself, alone in the wild street of Italy without him to protect her. He was enraged at first, thinking that his little sister would be an easy prey for pickpockets or worse pedophilia rapist. And threw a tantrum he did, screaming at the incompetent servants, blaming their carelessness to let her slip from their house.

It wasn't until his mother had approached him and told him off that he calmed down. Surprisingly, his mother was calm about this incident. She merely dismissed the housekeepers and sighed as she called his father, possibly to report that Hayato had gone missing. Bianchi asked why she wasn't worried in the slightest. His mother smiled bitterly at him before she ordered him to prepare for lunch and please, please don't yell at anyone during lunch.

He promised not to.

Two days later, he found that both his parents had stopped searching for Hayato.

And frankly, he was too exhausted after his studies and trainings to feel angry about it.

He slept it off, wishing he could be out there ransacking the whole city to find his precious little sister.

…

In three weeks, she had exhausted all her money.

It was inevitable. No one in their right mind would employ an eight-year-old brat dressed like hobos. She knew she had to find a way out of this predicament. Stealing might be the best way - her pride had yowled at her when she even considered begging for money like those homeless children- and she had learnt not to pity those she had stolen from. They have family…a real one waiting for them in their warm houses, ready to comfort them with cookies and cuddles.

While she have no one. And she needed money to live.

Despite her skill and capability on bestowing pain, no mafia family wanted her service. Had called her names, mocked her, and worse tried to catch her to be sold off to another country. She was angry to the last one and proceeded to blow their hideout to high heaven.

On the fourth week, she met Shamal.

Truthfully, she might be a sight to behold; tattered clothes, slightly murky smell, and scrawny build. Gone her silky silver hair. As replacement, her locks were tangled in intangible mess of knots and dirt. The doctor was astonished to see her and his face contorted in distaste when he saw her condition. He plucked her from the street and brought her to his small flat.

He examined her before he hit her head softly as warning.

"I'm taking you back tomorrow" is what he said to her abject horror.

She begged for him to let her stay there until she found someone who wants to hire her strength.

Shamal frowned at her statement, scolded her stupid remark and insisted that she goes home tomorrow.

"I'll run away again!" she finally said with finality in her voice.

With no more room to argue, Shamal relent and allowed her to stay in his house as long as she stopped doing reckless stunts and get an honest job.

…

People were starting to stare. Well, her silver hair is sure to attract attention, so it's nothing new. Among the crowds of black locks and brunettes, of course her light hair would stick out like a sore thumb. It was a given that people were staring though, she _is_ indeed in someone's don territory and is pretty much alone, a single female sheep between the crowds of hungry wolves. Not that means she's a harmless little lamb ready to allow herself be eaten.

Patting her coat to make sure her weapons were strapped securely against her body, she repeated herself, louder and clearer.

"I want to join you!"

The man before her was dressed in sleek black suit, ironed to the point where there was not a single crease on it - a fitting outfit for a leader. He seemed to smile as he spoke her name; the name which had represented her for years now even when she's still so young.

"Smoking Bomb Hayato…" he spat like it was bitter. She paid no heed to the obvious mock he put to her name as she nodded to the call. Like a signal he snorted and the whole base erupted into an uproar, ridiculing the young female who was still as silent as a rock.

"You're **The** Smoking bomb?" someone jeered, "…I thought you're his whore or something"

"If she's the Smoking Bomb, hell, the other must be so weak to let themselves to be destroyed by a fucking little bitch"

Her lips twitched upward and as the laughter ascended into its peak, she had smirked, staring at the boss straight into his eyes. Casually, she plucked a cigarette out of her pocket, putting it between her lips. More people sneered at her, probably at her attempt to look tough. She did not need to look tough. With trained move, she lighted her cigar and drew six dynamites out of her belt.

They stopped laughing by then.

"Well," she teased as more lit ones dropped to the ground around her, sizzling menacingly, "…if you don't want me to join, I digress" she threw the few she had in her hands toward the don as she catapulted herself back, throwing herself into one of the crowding member. The explosives went off at the same time, filling the storage with smokes and screams of pain. People started chasing her, punching at air, grappling for her limbs.

She moved with grace from pillar to pillar, dodging people's fists and tripping their feet as she planted the timed bomb she had crafted before. And with a long, final look toward the entire room, she bowed as she leapt for the exit, sliding below the last man guarding the door with ease.

Throwing the cigar out of her mouth, she coughed, "I'll never get used to that…"

A man was outside, watching bemusedly as she left the storage in flame. She glanced toward him and smiled; a smile not befitting someone who had singlehandedly destroyed a big family by herself. He smiled back warmly and extended a hand toward her,

"I would like to hire you, Hayato…"

…

She was not a Vongola.

A mafia family that has been running for a long time. A powerful family that was led by a powerful leader. A family that is to be feared and also to be seen as stepping stones. A symbol of power. Everything she wants in her ideal mafia family. Yet she was only a hired hitman, personally appointed by the Vongola Nono.

Gokudera Hayato trained by herself; Shamal had rejected her countless time before and she's wised up enough to know he wouldn't relent anytime sooner. But she wasn't incompetent; she was good at what she's been tasked to. Destroying bases was simple, killing people mercilessly was even simpler. Even though Nono had told her not to waste herself in such mundane order, Gokudera Hayato was still as reckless as ever.

Her name soared in the street of Italy and she did not care at all. Fear instilled into most little fishes in the street when she passed through. At young age, her name had already been a nightmare for those who had never seen her, but had heard of her 'achievement'.

Nono had tutors taught her lessons from common school and she absorbed each and every material like a sponge, demanding for more difficult ones. They started giving her college materials in the lesson she excelled at and she managed to pass with flying color –after all, she had puffed her chest with pride; who fights with bomb without knowing its composition?

And then, her phone rang.

…

Skirt is one annoying article of clothing. It's made with such length that if she bowed past her waist, someone will definitely see her butt. It's annoying, it sucks, and she has to wear it for school. Shamal had told her about the view of youth –"Sneaking peek of a girl's panties is a man's dream"- and she had flicked warning dynamite at the perverted doctor. Yet, she has no shorts available at the moment and fuck, it felt like she did not even wear any bottom.

Her client, the greatest Hitman in the world, had contacted her after she arrived in Japan. He had told her -cryptically- about her target and the definite reward if she managed to kill him. A photo was shown to her next and she scoffed at how weak the last candidate looks. A brunette with ridiculous hair and meek smile, the typical kids who gets bullied in school.

Yet she smiled, condescending the whole class –she had after all mastered their lesson from A to Z - as she introduced herself.

She approached the brunet's table and with a smirk flipped it over, smiling along the way to her declared seat. As she sat and watched the class broke into crowds of laughter and jeers, a smile tugged on her lips.

Surely…she had the ticket to join Vongola in her grasp now…

….

 **Oh, look, another one shot...**

 **Ahahaha...**

 **But really, I love these guys too much~**

 **Let me bug you guys with one shots of my recent favorites**


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